88

Ash

My hands are frozen into clubs, my legs wooden stumps. I’m long past feeling my feet as I trudge through the snow. The second sun sets in a red haze. The yellow sun will follow in a few hours, and then I imagine that will be it for me. Ash, wordsmith of Baiseen Sanctuary, unable to keep my place by the Bone Gatherer’s side let alone escape Avon Eyre… Ash, the cause of Kaylin’s death, will fall asleep, not waking again in this world.

“Ash, the wordsmith who gave up.” My inner voice’s sarcasm cuts deep.

I’m stating facts.

“Really? You’re a Bone Thrower who can see all possible futures? I didn’t know one existed.”

Stop being mean. I huff out a foggy breath.

“I will when you do.”

There’s truth to my inner thoughts. I’m not being terribly self-supportive in these last moments of my life.

“Stop!”

But I can’t. Things really are this grim. I have no idea how I survived last night. Maybe it was that dream of a second heart beating in my chest, glowing like a golden furnace.

“I mean, literally stop! Get down!”

The urgency drops me to my knees.

From a crouch, I catch the scent of game cooking on a smoky fire. Above the sound of my racing heart, I hear voices. The squeak of leather armor. Horses tamping down the snow, fluttering air out of their nostrils while chomping hay. A lot of horses. Did the Brotherhood send the entire Sanctuary out looking for me?

The decision of what to do next isn’t hard to make. I stand, swallow my pride, and take a step forward. Better alive in Avon Eyre than dead in the snow.

“I said, get down!”

On instinct, I drop again, adrenaline coursing through me. Why? My only choice is to go back. I’ll not have it that Kaylin saved me in vain.

“It’s not Anon.”

My inner voice has been right enough times in the past for me to pay attention, as much as I want to run to the fire, pull off my wet gloves, and warm these frozen bones that once passed as fingers. And the food smells so good. But, instead, I inch toward a closer row of pines, keeping low. When I reach a trunk ten times my girth, I listen hard. What did my inner self catch that my consciousness could not?

And then I hear it. The voices speak Sierrak, not the tongue of Avon Eyre.

I peek around the tree. A breath later, I snap back, pressing my cheek into the bark as my heart rate doubles. I can’t believe it—guards in Sierrak armor posted around a blazing fire. Half a deer roasting on a spit. A sea of tents beyond. Hundreds of picketed horses. And by the fire, standing tall as others remove his armor, the unmistakable profile of High Savant Tann.

He’s here?

“Hence the warning.”

Tann, here. With his troops. Does he plan to attack Avon Eyre?

“It doesn’t look like a diplomatic party.”

I risk another glimpse and see them, the brown-robe Brotherhood of Anon. Why do they march against their own?

“Maybe they have no choice.”

I stretch around the tree a little farther, to see more, but as I do, a phantom in the form of a white wolf lifts its nose and sniffs my way. I duck back, holding my breath until a shout comes from the guards. It’s followed by the sounds of phantoms rising, swords unsheathing, and boots crunching through the snow. Toward me.

What now? I ask as panic turns me to stone.

“Run!”

…

Air tears in and out of my lungs as they gain on me. Run faster! I yell to myself, even though the idea of outdistancing galloping horses is absurd. I’m heading north, I think. In the direction of the Sanctuary. I wish I could be sure, but the compass is deep in my pack and there’s no time to search for it now. Thick gray clouds have covered the late afternoon sun, so no help there.

Low branches smack my face, and a rocky outcropping suddenly looms. I duck left and keep running, thinking of Kaylin, the time we fled Mt. Bladon and rafted down the Ferus River Falls. Kaylin, who saved us all that day. Kaylin who gave his life on the road to Asyleen. To save me. My face contorts, and I can’t hold back a sob. In my mind’s eye, he dies all over again. Because of me. I charge out of the woods into a stark, snow-covered clearing, tears freezing on my cheeks.

“Not that way!” my inner voice shouts.

I dig in my heels, struggling to stop. Snow and rock break off beneath my feet and tumble away as I scramble from the brink of a cliff. The edge chips away completely and vanishes, turning into an avalanche as I fall backward. I roll onto my belly and crawl my way to safety.

F’qad’n bones, that was close. As I jump up to run the other way, riders burst into the clearing. Snow flies high in rooster tails as they slide to a halt. I’m trapped.

While the lead mount still skids on his haunches, the rider, in Sierrak war armor, jumps from the saddle. He hits the ground running and races to block my escape. As if I could get away now. Other riders are on the ground as well, weapons drawn. Closing in. I guess I should be glad they aren’t archers. It can take ages to die from an arrow wound.

I grit my teeth and begin to drop to my knees, unable to support myself a second longer, but before I touch down, they are at my sides, pulling me up.

“None of that,” the guard says in common Sierrak. “Save your phantom for an audience with Tann.”

“Idiots,” I say under my breath. “You captured a non-savant.”

They ignore my comments and muscle me to a waiting horse until we all turn at the sound of whistle bones. The melody wafts into the clearing, causing rock, weapons, and even the horses to lift as if floating in a well. My heart’s in my throat. I’ve seen nothing quite like this before.

In the moments of confusion, the clearing fills with brown-robe riders, their swords drawn, shields up. Behind them follows more riders, all playing whistle bones. The tune warms me, like a soothing blanket over my shoulders. It’s so comforting that if I close my eyes, I can imagine Kaylin’s arms holding me tight. In that unreal embrace, the striking of swords and grunts of battle disappear. Sadly, the relief doesn’t last long.

Again, strong arms grasp me. I’m pulled to my feet, though not roughly. This guard asks after my health, speaking in the dialect used in Avon Eyre. “Tannson?”

“What were you thinking?” he chastises me. “You nearly got yourself killed.” He shakes his head. “Give me your hands.”

I whip them behind my back when I see he has rune bands. I’ll not have anyone torture my mind again, control me again. Imprison me.

But he locks them on my wrists by force.

Blood drains from my limbs and I can barely stand. “I will not be your prisoner.”

He looks surprised. “The rune bands are for your protection. Can’t have you raising your phantom in the bone tunnel, or out here for that matter, with the rest of Tann’s army a stone’s throw away.”

How many times do I have to say it? “I am non-savant,” I hiss.

“Sure, sure.” Tannson pushes back his hood and gives a little smile as if he’s heard it too many times before. “Would you prefer to stay and dine with Tann?”

They won’t let me go, no matter how I respond, so I shake my head no. “We have to warn the Sanctuary.” I’m not a monster. No one deserves a surprise attack from Tann, and Tomik is still there.

“Already done.”

A horse is brought up for me, and for a moment everything retreats. Tann, the chase, my failed escape, the rising headache from the rune bands. The mare is that extraordinary. Her breath shoots out from her nostrils in puffs of steam. I guess her height at a good sixteen hands, and she’s as white as the snow around us save for a splash of ebony down her back, legs, mane, and tail. The coat is so long and thick, my hand disappears when I reach out to stroke her neck, but she flinches away.

“It’s the rune bands. Keep them off her skin.”

“Sorry,” I say to the mare and Tannson boosts me into the saddle. “What’s her name?”

“You may call her Star.” He brushes the mare’s forelock aside as she turns her head around to sniff my boot. Square in the middle of her face is a perfect pentangle.

He hands me a sword and without question, I buckle it to my side. Tann on the loose and all. After a hard gallop around narrow mountain paths, we reach a yawning cave that leads into the side of the mountain. The bone tunnel. Maybe not the one I traveled before, but a bone tunnel, for sure, judging by the giant rib bones that frame the entrance. What mammoth creature left such a skeleton? A snake the size of the Suni River? Small armies could pass through it, no doubt what Tann has in mind.

Tannson dismounts at the threshold and studies the ground. Other brown-robes join him and they converse in low voices.

“What is it?” I ask when he mounts back up, but a sinking feeling tells me I already know.

“Tann used your little diversion to slip into the tunnel ahead of us.”

“He’s ahead?” I think of Tomik’s sweet face and gentle nature forced to fight the likes of Tann.

“Ahead or behind. Bone tunnels are unpredictable.” I want to ask more but he’s already leading the way. “Be on guard,” he calls out to the others but says no more.

We splash through the mud and enter the dark tunnel. Torches are lit and Tannson calls for silence. He recites a chant, just like the brown-robes did when they took me through the first time. I remember that! I want to ask questions, but the air turns thick and still. The sultry warmth makes it hard to keep my eyes open. Chin on my chest, I give in and close my eyes. It could be worse. Out of freezing to death or being captured by Tann, riding back to Avon Eyre is the better option. Though I am nothing more than a prisoner here, too. I clink my manacled wrists together, proving the point to myself. All the same, Star’s unfaltering rhythm has me dozing. As I float away, voices come to me in the haze.

“Hail Japera!” The sound of fist-on-armor salutes rings through the tunnel.

“This is the girl?” A woman speaks.

“Should I wake her?”

“Let her rest, but get those rune bands off. What are you thinking? We’re near the other side.”

The other side of what, I wonder. Maybe I should wake up and find out more. But Star flutters softly out her nose and walks on, and I slip away.